The Slaughtered Lamb
by Alexis Kent
Summary: The innocents are always the first to die.
1. Chapter 1

**T**he day was cold when the stranger arrived in Caer Darrow, and the sun was far away. Rain had come but only briefly, leaving behind a rainbow that hung in sharp contrast to the angry skies. Darker even than the stormy clouds was the attire of the stranger and his attendants: inky black, edged in silver. The procession was long. Every face in the crowd was of a regal countenance; proud, if not haughty. Each looked in their own right like royalty, though it was the stranger who held the attention of all.

From her place among the gathering crowd, Eirwen drank in the scene with eyes bright and hopeful. Her girl's mind was a blur of questions and her heart was teeming with excitement. Whoever these grave strangers were, they were far removed from the refined pleasure-seekers that were known to visit the sprawling island. The sternness of their eyes spoke of great power and greater purpose. Next to them, the woman in drab servant's robes was cowed by her insignificance.

It seemed but a moment before they were gone, ushered away to a private audience with the Master. Those who remained -- the lesser people, the maids and butlers and farmhands -- dispersed each to his own duties to ponder on the mystery of it all. They were not left long to wonder, however; soon they were called to the main hall of the keep where Master Barov himself was waiting. His children fanned out behind him in a half-circle and his wife stood by his side, beautiful and serene as always. Both the lord and his lady were smiling; something of a rarity since their recent moods and rages.

"My children," he said fondly, his voice laden with sweet deference, "Illucia and I are honored to open our home to Master Gandling and his people. They have chosen this as the location for a school; an exclusive academy for only the most gifted; a place for a select few to learn and thrive…" In the usual manner of rich or important persons, he continued in his speech for some time without saying anything that was not already known. At length, he concluded, "They are not to be disturbed. It is our hope that you show each member of his party with the same loving respect you have always given us."

* * *

**D**eep in the night came the first scream. It pierced the still darkness to be cut short half a moment later, leaving a few disgruntled sleepers to wonder if they had really heard anything at all. But Eirwen had not been sleeping; she knew what she had heard. Shaking hands groped for a candle in the darkness but found nothing. It was a challenge picking her way through the crowded sleeping quarters with nothing but a thin ray of moonlight to guide her, but at last she reached the corridor leading to the rest of the keep.

The warped oaken door protested loudly as it swung on rusted hinges into the passageway. Belatedly she regretted not having brought her blanket, for a chill breeze drifted through the hall and settled into her bones. One hand settled lightly on the wall to guide her, passing over paintings and sconces and cold stone. She found herself stumbling on the uneven ground, and an unexpected flight of stairs found her fallen to her hands and knees beside what felt like a tome; very thick and heavy.

A wiser soul would have left the book untouched. One less brave might have retreated to her quarters. But Eirwen, driven by the simple innocence of curiosity, took the great tome into her arms and carefully opened it to its first page.


	2. Chapter 2

The runes on the yellowed parchment flickered a moment, then exploded in such brilliance that for a moment Eirwen was forced to look away. The symbols seemed to dance and mesh together, the forms ever-changing and swirling in mad disarray. An eerie glow filled the hall; purples and blues and greens reflected off of the walls, making the stone seem alive.

There was a dull throbbing, though whether it came from the book or her head or the earth itself could not be discerned. Something was wrong. Something, somewhere, was disturbed. Eirwen fumbled with the heavy book in her arms, her fingers shaking and refusing to cooperate as she tugged on the elaborately gilded cover. The light only intensified.

"Found something that interests you?"

At the sound of the calm, masculine voice, both the pulsing in the air and the brilliance of the runes faded and then disappeared entirely. Eirwen lifted her gaze very slowly, up, up, up… past lavish black velvet swathing a narrow waist and broad shoulders, up to the regal visage of the Master Gandling himself.

The girl remained on her knees, as was fitting. Neither spoke. Silence reigned, broken only by the ragged, shivering breath of Eirwen as she fumbled to close the book. Bowing her head, she offered the tome up to him while staring past his feet.

He seized her wrist instead.

The grip was not hard, but demanding as he dragged her to her feet. The tome fell to the ground with a resounding _thump _that made both wince. "I believe my requests were made very clear," whispered Gandling, the cold calm in his voice more terrible than any rage.

"I am sorry, sir; truly. I found it on the floor, sir, and meant to return it to its place," she breathed, daring a look into his eyes: narrow and stern. "I did not know if it was for the Master Barov; I have seen nothing like it in his libraries, sir."

"What did you think of its secrets?"

"Secrets… sir, I cannot read the normal written works of man, let alone such…" A pause as she weighed carefully her next words, settling with, "Such a masterpiece."

His grip on her wrist loosened and his fingers slid to take her hand, surprisingly gently. "What is your name, girl?"

"Eirwen, sir."

"A pretty name," murmured Gandling, his voice unchanging. Still he did not release her hand, and in the near-darkness she wondered on the virtue of being alone with a man, and so close. He was smiling now. "And what brought you out of your chambers at this late hour, Eirwen?"

"There was a noise, sir."

"There are always noises in the night. It is best to pay them no mind."

Rising up on her toes, she lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. "Someone screamed, sir."

His hand tightened around hers, presumably in reassurance. "This is a peaceful place; I am sure it was only the wind." He, too, was whispering. His breath was on her neck. "Sleep, Eirwen. Do not be troubled."

"You will not tell the Master, sir?"

"You are afraid of him?"

"No," she answered quickly, pulling from Gandling. "I meant no disrespect to him, sir."

He studied her a moment, then smiled. It was a jarring thing to see, but though the smile seemed out of place on his stern features, it was not altogether unpleasant. "I will not tell him."

Eirwen ventured a smile of her own. "You are kind, sir. Thank you."

They bid each other a good night and returned each to their own rooms; Gandling to the lavish guest wing, Eirwen to her pallet in the corner of the servant's quarters. The quiet sounds of steady breathing filled the room; nobody had noticed her brief excursion, it seemed. Only when she was nestled in her blankets did she realize one thing amiss: the cot next to her was empty.

And the wind screamed again.


End file.
